


Autumn Melodies

by dontsaycrazy



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Haru is a street musician and Makoto is a hopeless romantic, Inspired by Music, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontsaycrazy/pseuds/dontsaycrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The man has managed to steal his heart with nothing but the infinite depth of his blue eyes, and the delicate movements of his fingers over the strings of his violin."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Melodies

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this story while listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgctvNnRNUQ), in case you wanna listen to it while you read! Enjoy :)

     Dancing to the beat of the slow, melodic notes of the old violin, the yellowish leaves describe delicate circles and graceful spirals in the air. Then, they fall to the ground to be dragged away by the cold autumn wind. The clouds that hang above in the sky are heavy with one of the most distant shades of gray that the young musician has ever seen. Still, he keeps playing, with his eyes closed in concentration. His entire body moving along to the movements of his arm when he moves the bow over the strings, lost inside the sound of his own music.

     But only the wind and the leaves stop to listen to the sweet, gentle notes that the dark-haired man rips from his worn out instrument. There is nobody in the hectic city of Tokyo who has time for a man and his violin, especially when the wind is blowing so cold, and with so little mercy.

     With a small sigh, Haruka stops playing. The fragile shield he has created with his music shatters as soon as his arms fall to his sides, still holding his instrument. He’s immediately engulfed by the ever-present noise of the city when a cold breeze ruffles his dark locks. Haruka tightens his scarf around his neck, and watches for a moment as his breath forms small white clouds before him. He’s about to bend over to put the violin back in his case, which is laying at his feet, when a voice behind his back surprises him.

     “Please, don’t stop!”

     Haruka turns around, and his blue gaze lands on a pair of green eyes, warm enough to make him forget about the cold, even if only for a moment. Entranced as he is by those green orbs, Haruka needs a few seconds to realize that they belong to a face. A face with beautiful factions, adorned by a gentle smile and a light blush, and framed by light locks of brown hair.

     “Please,” the stranger repeats, and his blush darkens a little, almost imperceptibly. “Don’t stop.”

     Without saying a word, Haruka places the violin back on his shoulder, and holds it in place with his chin. He begins to slide the bow over the strings, eliciting a collection of soft, high-pitched sounds. His eyelids fall over his eyes when he feels the music surround him again, and his body sways slightly to the rhythm of the controlled movements of his arm.

     He doesn’t notice how the smile in the stranger’s face fades to give way to an expression of silent amazement, and he can’t see his green eyes twinkle with unrestrained admiration when he begins to hear the story of a lonely life, hidden between note and note, dancing in the skilled fingers of the violinist. The same violinist who spends his days offering his music to hundredths of passerby’s who won’t spare more than a glance in his direction.

     Except for that green-eyed man who stopped to listen, entranced by black locks of hair dancing in the breeze, and delicate fingers that transformed the strings of a worn-out violin into a breath-taking melody.

     But what Haruka does notice, is just how fast his heart is beating inside his chest, and how his breath seems to freeze inside his lungs. A wave of unfamiliar feelings washes over his body when he realizes that, for once, the wind and the leaves are not his only audience: joy, gratefulness, excitement, and maybe just a hint of nervousness.

     _“So this is what it feels like,”_ Haruka muses, just as the tiniest of smiles finds its way across his lips. _“Having somebody who wants to listen.”_

     Once the song comes to an end, Haruka glances up at the other man, with a dash of nervous expectation shining inside his blue eyes. His gaze is met the most sincere of greens, gleaming with a stream of emotions that the violinist can’t even begin to comprehend.

     “That was beautiful,” the stranger whispers with sincerity. He takes a step forward, and a bright smile appears on his face at the sight of Haruka’s wide eyes. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

     The wind grabs his words, and takes them to the young musician. They land on his shoulder, and tangle in his hair before climbing down his chest where, with a timid caress, they awake his frozen heart.

     On that cold, windswept park, Tachibana Makoto witnesses the most gorgeous smile he has ever seen.

~•~

     Haruka stares up at the grey sky above him, and then looks down at the violin case lying at his feet. It’s completely empty, except for one lonely coin. The green-eyed stranger had given it to him the previous day with an apologetic _“Sorry, I don’t have much money with me today”_. But for Haru, it had been more than enough.

     Meeting someone who was willing to hear his music had been more than enough.

     So, of course, he had kept the coin inside the case. And every time he sees it, he can’t help but to let a little smile appear on his face.

     Nobody has stopped to listen to his music this afternoon. But Haruka still puts his violin in place to start playing again, closing his eyes out of habit. When he closes them, it’s easier to pretend that there’s someone, at least one person hearing him, staring at him with evident admiration like that green-eyed stranger had done. It’s easier to pretend that he can stop the world for someone, even if just for one moment, with the soft notes that the strings willingly gave to him.

     When Haruka cracks his eyes back open, it’s his world which stops.

     “Hey,” a gentle voice fills his ears, and the dark-haired musician can feel its warm spread across his body.

     “You…” Haruka mumbles, taking the violin from under his chin to stare at the familiar figure before him. “The one from yesterday…”

     “I was hoping I would find you,” the green-eyed man says, with that ever-present smile of his brightening his entire face. “I knew it was you as soon as I heard the music.”

     A strong wind shakes its way towards them, dragging dozens of leaves with it. Haruka can feel it ruffling his hair and shaking his clothes with its usual coldness, leaving a miniature disaster in its wake. He opens his mouth to speak, but his words die in his throat when he sees the stranger’s light-colored locks dancing in the breeze.

     “Would you play for me again?” the man asks, and Haruka can only nod silently, before placing the violin between his shoulder and his chin once again.

~•~

     The green-eyed stranger visits him the next day too, and Haruka would be lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for him to arrive. His impatience had affected every one of his attempts to play anything decent that day; his fingers shook too much over the strings, and the bow felt too uncomfortable inside his hand.

     He doesn’t even know _why_ he’s so eager to see him again. Maybe it’s the kindness of his smile, or the honesty of his green gaze. It could be the way his hair moves when the wind blows, or the warm, gentle sound of his voice.

     But whatever is the reason for his fretfulness, Haruka stops caring when he sees the man walking towards him in long strides. The musician has to resist the urge to run towards him, fiddling with the hem of his coat until the other man reaches him at last.

     “Hey!” he greets him with his characteristic smile, and then hands him one of the two cups that Haruka hadn’t even notice he was holding.

     “What is this?” he asks, placing his violin on its case before accepting the warm cup with both hands.

     “Coffee,” the man explains, and then a light blush spreads across his cheeks when he notices the puzzled expression on the violinist’s face. “I thought you’d be cold out here, so…” he trails off, giving him a nervous smile.

     “Thanks,” Haruka mumbles after a moment, and watches as most of the tension in the other man’s face fades away. He looks down at the cup in his hands, and then drinks a small sip.

     He feels the hot liquid warming up his body, and a grateful sigh escapes his lips. Haruka looks at the cup once again, before turning his eyes to the taller man. There are a thousand questions running around his mind, a lot of things he wants to say. But somehow, he finds himself unable to pronounce any words in front of the stranger. It’s almost as if his mere presence is enough to steal his voice away, and hide it in a recondite place of his chest.

     The brunet seems to understand his predicament, because he rushes to fill the silence with a simple _“Is it good?”_

     Haruka doesn’t answer. He just stares at him for a few moments, until he’s finally able to gather enough courage speak. “Why?” he asks, earning a surprised look from the green-eyed man.

     “Well…” he starts, but then stops himself to think of an answer. The fact that this man hasn’t even stop to consider _why_ he’s brought coffee to an unnamed violinist that he has only seen twice before, fazes Haruka even more. “I guess I wanted to thank you!” he finally says.

     “Thank me?” Haruka mumbles, furrowing his brow.

     “Yes! After all,” the wind around them stirs again, somehow managing to stretch the seconds that pass between a soft smile, and an affirmation that makes Haruka’s heart skip a beat. “You’re the one who lets me hear something as wonderful as your music.”

     Haruka doesn’t play that day. Instead, they sit on a nearby bench to silently sip on their coffee together. They don’t say anything. They don’t need to.

     It’s not until the man leaves, that Haruka notices the name written across his now empty coffee cup. _“Makoto”_ it says in big black letters.

     Somehow, it fits him very well, Haruka concludes.

 ~•~

     Makoto is there the next day, and the day after that one, too. He goes to the same park every afternoon, only to listen to the gorgeous music of the dark-haired musician. The man has managed to steal his heart with nothing but the infinite depth of his blue eyes, and the delicate movements of his fingers over the strings of his violin.

     Makoto brings coffee sometimes, on the days that are unusually cold, and the raven accepts it with a quiet _“thank you”_ , and a soft gleam of gratitude in his gaze. They never talk much, but it doesn’t matter. Just getting to share a small portion of the day is enough for both of them.

     On the tenth day, Makoto finally learns the musician’s name: Haruka. It’s a gorgeous name, especially when the young musician utters it for the first time, with that soft, calming voice of his.

     “That’s a beautiful name,” Makoto mumbles, looking up at the sky. Then, he turns his gaze to Haruka, and takes a moment to appreciate the thin strands of black hair that fall over his eyes, before speaking up again. “My name’s Makoto.”

     “I know,” Haruka says simply, and then hurries to explain himself when he notices the bewildered confusion in the taller man’s face. “It was on the coffee cup. The first one you gave me.”

     Makoto blinks slowly a couple times, before he bursts into a hearty laugh that shakes his entire body. A few seconds pass before he hears Haruka’s laugh too, soft at first, and then delightfully loud. Makoto looks at the musician, surprised, only to find flushed cheeks and ruffled dark hair falling over closed eyes. Haruka’s entire face is contorted into a wonderful smile, a smile that looks like it’s stealing its warmth from the sun itself.

     That’s when Makoto knows he is forever lost.

~•~

     When Makoto arrives at the park the next day, Haruka isn’t there. And he isn’t there on any of the days of the following week, either.

     Autumn has ended, and it has taken Makoto’s heart with it.

~•~

     He has a million things to say, a million words that echo around his head every time he thinks about Haruka, about his blue eyes, his dark hair, and his skillful fingers. There are so many things that he will never get to tell the young musician. So many things that Haruka will never get to hear.

     Makoto stopped going to the park after a week. This is only the second day in which he goes to his house right after college, but it feels like the thousandth. He misses Haruka. He misses his music, his voice, the gleam in his eyes, the way he sips on his coffee, and the way he sighs afterwards. Makoto quickens his pace every time he walks by that place, forcing himself to look away, and willing his ears to stop searching for the sound of a familiar melody. He knows they’re not going to find it.

     With those thoughts invading his mind, Makoto flops on his bed, defeated after another day of music-less desolation. He makes a futile attempt to think about something else, to drive his mind away from the sweet memories of his encounters with Haruka, before they turn sour and unbearable, and then sighs when he fails miserably.

     And that’s when he hears it: the unmistakable melody that reaches him from the other side of the wall. The notes of an old violin are coming from the apartment next to his, dancing together in a song he would recognize anywhere.

     Without even stopping to think about it, Makoto jumps from his bed and runs out of his apartment. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s knocking on his neighbor’s door with way too much force, too much urgency, too much unrestrained hopefulness. _“Please be him, please be him, please be him”_ he pleads inside his mind once the music stops, engulfing him in a heavy silence.

     As soon as the sound of someone running to open the door reaches his ears, Makoto finds himself immersed in the possibility of getting to hear Haruka’s voice again, of getting to see the blissful look on his face every time he plays. All of sudden, during those short seconds of expectancy, Makoto wishes for nothing more than blue eyes and dark strands of hair.

     And it’s blue eyes and dark strands of hair which greet him once the door is opened, along with a wide, bright smile that Makoto will never stop loving.


End file.
